Floor Hockey Charity
by melima8788
Summary: (S5) Angel and Team are signed up for a charity floor hockey game as representatives of Wolfram & Hart. Naturally, anything involving charity and the law firm is bound to equal in much badness.


Title: Floor Hockey Charity

Author: Melima8788

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Humor/General

Summary: (S5) Angel and Team are signed up for a charity floor hockey game as representatives of Wolfram & Hart. Naturally, anything involving charity and the law firm is bound to equal in much badness.

Authors Note:

I do not drive. I am 15, thus having no frickin' license. My mommy lets me drive the van once in a blue moon (which, believe it or not, isn't really _ever_ blue. It was a screw up in some newspaper or almanac), but it's an automatic as is Dad's truck. So, I kinda mixed and meshed what I knew about standards, and have done the best I could. So, you die-hard vehicle fans you, do not crucify me. If you wanna correct me on it, so I'll know how they operate the _next_ time something like this comes up, please feel free to do so!!

Disclaimer: 

Buffy: What do you want? 

Angel: The same thing you do. 

Buffy: Okay. What do I want? 

Angel: To kill 'em. To kill 'em all. 

Buffy: Sorry, that's incorrect. But, you do get this watch and a year's supply of turtle wax. _What I want…_Is to let everybody know that I don't own any of this. This all belongs to the man that is Joss…

=================================================

Angel sat in stony silence, his arms folded over his chest.  He glared at a package that sat on his desk, wrapped in see-through plastic. It appeared to have been casually tossed (if there was a way to casually _toss_ a package) on his desk, if the scattered papers were any testament to this. He prodded it with a cold index finger, as if it was a dead animal, or some gelatinous blob worthy of, well, prodding. He looked up as his glass office doors swung open and in stormed in the male members of the original Angel Investigations team, plus Spike. Each one carried a package identical to the one currently sitting on Angel's desk.

"Angel, what is the meaning of this?" Wesley demanded.

"I have a deposition to prepare tonight!" Gunn said.

"Did I neglect to mention how _bad_ I look in red and yellow?"  Asked Lorne, waving his sharp-nailed hands about dramatically. 

"You bleedin' pouf." Was all that Spike said, or managed to find the words to say. Angel glared stonily at the three of them. It was one of those glares that scared away other vampires, and demons, and probably would scare away the senior partners if given half a chance. It didn't do any good, and only resulted in the four taking a step closer to him. He stood up abruptly. 

"Do you think I am _any_ happier about this than the rest of you?" Angel asked them, snatching the package off his desk. His rapid movement of snatching and displaying caused the plastic to tear and the package's contents to spill out onto the floor. A floor hockey jersey, crimson red with yellow stripes and identical shorts lay crumpled on the Berber carpet.  The group eyed the jersey with distaste. 

"Oh, God, it's worse than I bleedin' thought." Spike moaned.

"Shut up, Spike." Said Angel. 

"This is all your fault." Spike snapped back, throwing up his fists. "C'mon, then! Think you can take me?" 

"Can and have, idiot. Wiped the floor with once, and I'll do it again if you don't—"  Harmony broke up the altercation when she bounded in, in what can only be referred to as typical Harmony fashion.

"Boss?" She asked, sounding a little meek as she addressed the vampire. He turned and looked at her.

"What, Harmony?" 

"I'm supposed to remind you about the basketball game…they want you guys in the gym by 6." 

"And who is they, exactly?" Asked Wesley petulantly. Judging by Wesley's attitude, one could have surmised he may have had other plans that night. Which indeed, he did. Wesley had planned to take Fred out to dinner, and a movie. She loved those, and did not get much chance to see them as of late.

"The senior partners." Replied Harmony, twirling her hair anxiously. 

"Okay, Harmony. Thank you." Angel broke in and dismissed her before Wesley had a chance to throw a fit. She seemed quite pleased to go. Once she left in a flash of lacquered hair, Wesley turned on his boss.

"Did you give any thought whatsoever as to how this would affect the rest of us?" He asked, glaring at Angel through his impeccably kept glasses.

"Wes, I'm sorry. I said yes when the local charities asked three weeks ago, and then forgot about it in all the hustle and bustle that is this law firm!" Angel defended himself, folding his arms again and managing to look quite victimized. 

"Forgot? Angelcakes, I know you're busy, but come on. I don't even know how to dribble. And I have this icky scaly thing on my legs, and shorts, let me tell you, not a pretty thing."  Lorne said, his red eyes pleading for his boss to give him the freebie from this one.

"No way, Lorne. If I have to do it, then you have to." Gunn interrupted sourly. 

"Oh, alright Mr. Lawyer, but let me ask you this; is it _worth_ losing that case for a couple of foul shots?" Lorne replied. 

"I won't lose the case, Lorne. Thank you for your concern. And they're called penalty shots." Snapped back Gunn, his voice taking on a 'holier-than-thou' attitude.

"Oh, don't be so sure of that, champ. That Luiakowsky fellow is going to give a run for the greenbacks, if you know what I mean, jellybean." Gunn gave Lorne a dirty look, but said naught. He didn't have to, as Angel sighed, and began to speak. 

"Lorne, can we stop with the fortune telling? It's almost six, and as much as we all hate this, we're pretty much out of luck." The group of men glared. Angel winced.

"It's for a good cause?" He said, with the slightest hint of a whine entering his voice. Grumbling, the group filed out of the spacious, and somewhat comfortable office, and down to the elevators.  Spike glared at Angel out of the corner of his eye during the walk to the elevator, down the elevator shaft, into Angel's car, and into the gym. By the time the men got into the locker rooms a brawl had erupted.  Lorne looked a little agitated as Angel slammed Spike's head into one of the lockers, leaving a new head-shaped impression in its wake. 

Angel growled, his vampire face sliding into view. Wesley leaned against the wall—he would much rather watch the two vampires duke it out than put on his shirt. Spike pushed himself off of the locker, his backwards motion bringing both Angel and him down to the cement floor. Both vampires pushed themselves up quickly, growling and circling around the large circle with 'Wolfram & Hart' emblazoned in the middle. 

"Stop looking at me!" Spike darted forward, punching him in the jaw. Angel fended off his next two blows, before kicking him across the room with a crescent kick to the stomach. Spike growled, leaping at Angel and knocking him into the other wall. The onlookers began to feel as if they were spectators in a tennis match, and watching a vicious battle between two pro-level tennis players 

"Don't like me looking at you? Right then!" He shoved Angel into the wall, and held him there whilst he made a funny face, which succeeded in making his nose distort oddly and showing every vein the human eye can possess. . Disgusted, Angel shoved him off and snatched up his uniform.

"What's the matter? Peaches can't take his eyeballs?" Spike taunted, bouncing around like a boxer on caffeine. 

"Spike, do shut up." Said Wesley tiredly, as he removed his glasses.

"Yeah, as amusing as that was—ANGEL!" Gunn shouted, for Angel had thrown his uniform to the ground, snatched Spike by the throat and lifted him off the ground.  Spike laughed one of his patented "Nah-nah-nah" laughs that infuriated Angel beyond belief. Spike knew this, and this is exactly why he did it.  It took both Wesley and Gunn to drag Angel off of Spike, well, that and Lorne's promises of dragging out the holy water.  Angel picked up his uniform again, and stormed into the changing room.  Spike followed shortly after, making sure to kick over one of the trashcans in his wake.

"Poor li'l guy." Lorne said with a shake of his head. He pulled his jersey over his head, and then up righted the tipped trash canister. 

"Which one? Broody or Peroxide?" Asked Gunn. Wesley chuckled as this struck him as particularly amusing. 

"Neither, actually. I was talking to the trash can." Lorne laughed good naturedly to show he was only kidding. "Angel's had a lot on his mind lately, we should all cut the boss some slack." 

"Oh? And what's Spike's excuse?" Asked Gunn, tying the shoelaces on his gym-approved shoes.

"Spike…well…Angel's reason enough, really. They go out of their way to make life miserable for each other." Lorne shook his head, and began to vocalize. Wesley, meanwhile, was struggling with his jersey.  Why were the armholes as big as the neck holes? Why the heck did the jersey reach down to his knees?

"Dear God." Said Wesley, staring in the mirror. Gunn looked over.

"Whoa, there, Cinderella. Want the glass slippers to go with that?" Wesley frowned and pursed his lips.

"I must have someone else's jersey." He crawled out of it, and examined the tag. "Ah, yes, you see? This certainly isn't my size." Angel stalked in, attempting to fold his arms and glare at Wesley.

"Ah, Angel, just the person I wanted to see. I believe you have my jersey." Gunn slapped his knee, doubling over in laughter. Angel had struggled into his jersey, which was indeed Wesley's jersey, so therefore it didn't fit. By a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot.  In fact, it didn't fit to the point that he resembled a middle-aged man with a beer belly stuck in a toddler's Barney t-shirt. Wesley held over Angel's jersey.

"I presume you wish to trade." Angel began to attempt to wiggle out. He wiggled, and he waggled, and he tugged and he twitched. 

"Uh, guys? A little help here?" He said finally, his head stuck in the neck hole and his arms stuck at odd angles.

"Sure thing." It took a demon, a foreign language expert, a lawyer, and a pair of scissors to remove the jersey from the vampire.

"I hope one of you can sew." Wesley said, looking at his now tattered jersey disdainfully. "We have a spare, I think." Angel said, looking apologetic, pulling on his jersey. He was pleased that this one fit.  On that thought, he hunted around, eventually dragging out a battered cardboard box with "Jerseys" scribbled on the side in marker.  He yanked out three jerseys, only one of which fit the Englishman.

"What, we have spares in case people get stuck in the jerseys that obviously don't fit them but they try and squeeze in anyway so we have to cut them off?" 

"Gunn, go back to the mirror and polish your head just a bit more, okay?" Snapped Angel. A stare off almost erupted between the lawyer and the vampire, but Lorne's words about cutting Angel some slack floated back into Gunn's lawyerly head, so he broke eye contact. 

"I'll go check on Spike. He's been in there a while." Gunn paused, as if an idea was suddenly occurring to him. "You didn't stake him, did you?"

"No, unfortunately. Wesley, stop whining and put on the jersey."

"It smells, and it clearly hasn't been washed since the dark ages." Said Wesley, holding the jersey at arm's length. 

"Oh, just a bit of spit and some elbow grease, it'll be good as new."  Said Lorne smiling and taking the jersey from Wesley. 

"Of course, that's if you're blind and have no sense of smell."  Lorne said, the smile erased from his face. He shoved the jersey back into Wesley's hands and exited abruptly, searching for a sink and possibly some industrial strength soap. Gunn returned from the changing rooms, dragging Spike with him. 

"We don't have time for this." Gunn said irritably.

"Bloody hell, the lot of you must be absolutely hammered if you think I'm going out there!" Spike waved his arms about dramatically.

"Spike, what is your problem _now_?" Angel pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled a deep breath. Breathe in, Breathe out, that's what the counselor said to do. Breathe in, breathe out. 

"See this?" Spike flexed his arms. 

"Yeah, what about it?" asked Angel. Spike did it again, flexing both of his arm muscles. 

"The skin? White as a chicken feather! I can't go out there. They have black lights!"  

Angel looked perplexed. For half a minute, he could not figure out what the heck black lights had to do with Spike…then it hit him. Black lights…plus white…equals glow in the darkness. He laughed.

"You'll be like those glow in the dark sheep I had on the ceiling!"  

"Glow in the dark sheep? You bloody Princess Margaret!"  Angel could open his mouth, a referee in a pinstriped suit wearing a whistle and holding a clipboard dashed in.

"Five minutes until game time, folks."  He said, pointing to his wristwatch. Angel nodded curtly, and the referee removed himself. 

"Okay, are we all set yet?" Angel asked, surveying his team, which was rather pathetic. The team consisted of, well, him, Spike, Lorne, Wesley, Gunn, and three or four terrified paralegals.  

Wesley meekly held up his hand.

"Still need a jersey." Angel smiled wickedly at the paralegals. 

"You." He said, pointing at one who hobbled about on crutches. "Trade." 

"'Kay." God, it was nice to be the boss of people who were terrified of him. Wesley accepted the jersey with whispered thank you, and pulled it on. This one fit, which was definitely a change from the skirt of earlier. The other paralegal opted instead to wear a jersey that was three sizes too big, but at least it was clean. This paralegal had a broken foot dodging a possessed vacuum cleaner (normal fare for the offices), so the odds of him playing in the game were slim anyways. He was only there because they needed nine people on the team to play in the game. One by one they selected a hockey stick from the great bin that stood in a corner, pulled on shin guards, goggles, and gloves. Once they yanked them on, with, of course, a small scuffle between Angel and Spike regarding who had the cleanest gloves (Angel maintained since they were brand new, both pairs were the cleanest, but Spike begged to disagree. His clearly were whiter, and therefore would glow more),  they moved towards the door. Spike stood in the way however, refusing to allow the rest of the team to leave.

"I'm going to glow out there. Bloody blind everyone."

"Funny how much I seem to _not_ care." Angel snapped, unkindly pushing Spike out of the way, and blowing through the swinging doors. Spike swore and ran after him. He grabbed Angel's jersey on the back and was about to punch him when he realized he was standing on the middle of a basketball court. 

"Could you be anymore inconspicuous?" Said Angel through gritted teeth, as a shocked silence settled about the large gym.

"Don't think so, mate." Spike released Angel's shirt and took a step backwards, looking down in dismay at his arms. Angel did the same, and sighed. _He _wasn't supposed to glow! His skin was darker! Why the _hell _was he glowing? Well, at least he didn't look like a great ball of sun. All one thousand and one eyes in the gym stared at the rag tag group, the silence so prominent that Lorne felt like singing one of Frank Sinatra's hits. The announcer was clearly stumped; how the hell do you announce a team that looks like they're about to kill each other? Or better yet, how do you announce a team that seems to be it's own light source? This is a charity game, for god's sake!  The announcer pinched the bridge of his nose before turning on his microphone. 

"To the left!" He said, in his most charismatic announcer person voice. As he spoke, the black lights flash for a few minutes and then the bright gym lights were switched on. Thank god, because if they hadn't those two vampires would have caused him to go blind.

"We have the team from LA's branch of Wolfram & Hart! Everybody, let's give a rousing clap for these fellows who have kindly donated their time tonight!" Scattered applause ripped from the gym. A camera swirled around Angel's group, each of them smiling uncomfortably into the camera. Except for Spike. He simply growled at it, and snapped his teeth. Angel fought the urge to kick him, and thankfully won the battle. His leg stopped twitching and stood still.  The announcer moved on the to the next team, announcing them as an up-and-coming firm from a neighboring city. With introductions finished, the referee hustled everyone into playing positions. He grabbed the captains from both of the teams, Angel and another lawyer that the vampire knew from local drug circles. One that he had tried to shut down. Repeatedly. 

 The referee ushered them into the middle of the circle.

"Now, I want you two boys to shake hands. I want a clean game; no biting," He stared pointedly at Angel. Angel looked rather shocked. 

"I haven't bitten any humans since last year!" 

"No biting." Repeated the referee. He turned to the other team captain.

"No shooting." He said, stabbing his finger at the lawyer. "This is a charity game, fellas, let's make it look like one. Now, shake hands." The two captains shook hands, each daring each other to just try it, just simply try it. With a snarl, each captain turned swiftly on their heels and returned to the group huddle.

"I'm goalie." Said Lorne without any hesitation. Well, it wasn't without hesitation. It was more of the fact that he would be damned if he got stuck in a position without a mask to keep his horns from breaking and his teeth from smashing. Wesley grudgingly handed over the goalie mask and traded it for Lorne's goggles. He really wanted to be goalie, but as the minutes wore on he felt an incredible urge to smack some one with his hockey stick. You can't do that when you're a goalie. You have to guard the goal.  Which comes with being a…goalie. Wesley rolled his eyes and turned his attention back from his internal musings to the quickly rising altercation in front of him.

"No, I'm the boss, I'm center!" Angel declared, gesturing with his stick, which was coming dangerously close to poking out Spike's eye.

"You wanker, you don't know the slightest thing about playing the game!" Spike countered, taking an aggressive step forward.  

"What makes you think that?" Angel's face melted into confusion. If _he_ didn't know how to play floor hockey, how the hell did Spike know? Disgusted, Spike threw his arms up in the air. Gunn pushed in between the both of them.

"Yo, I'll be center. You two fight it out over who gets left and right wing. But let's get going; I do have a brief to work on." And this he did. Gunn moved into the center (after spending many years playing street hockey he fancied himself pretty damn good at it) and prepared to face off. Angel, after arguing with Spike about who got right wing (Spike insisted that the right wing was better than the left wing, because the lighting wasn't quite as bad. Angel begged to disagree; he was just afraid of the soda-cup wielding toddlers in the front row), finally yielded and took the left. The sooner they got this finished the sooner he could leave. A sharp whistle blew, the puck dropped, and the cheering started. 

                                                                        ---

"Whoo! Go Blondie Bear!!" Harmony yelled, waving her right hand, which held a small box of popcorn about. Some kernels fell from the box, showering Fred who sat below her. The brainy scientist contemplated turning around and shoving Harmony's little bottle of blood in the brown paper bag into her face, but decided that her energies would be better spend paying attention to the game in front of her. Well, paying attention to a certain _person_ playing the game in front of her. Harmony yelled out another encouragement to her blondie bear, and Fred sighed. She hated floor hockey.

                                                                        ---

Angel was grateful five minutes into this game that he did not need to breathe. Otherwise he'd be in pretty bad shape. The game puck came in his direction, so he snapped out his stick and grabbed it, passing it in a neat assist to Gunn, who shot it at the goalie on the opposite team. The goalie grabbed it, and pushed it back out with a powerful thrust of his stick. His stick accidentally lifted the puck and it slammed through the neck of the goalie's right defense. The whole gym seemed to freeze as one. Spike's jaw dropped, Angel managed to look even paler than he usually did, Gunn stared, and Wesley cleaned his glasses furtively. Lorne didn't really do anything, he couldn't see through his goalie mask. Whispering broke out amongst the two teams as dust settled on the floor. The goalie's right defense had been a vampire, which, granted, wasn't a big offense seeing as how Wolfram & Hart's right and left wings were vampires, but come on! He just had his head decapitated by a flying hockey puck. Angel rubbed his neck, pretending as if it had an ache or pain, but in reality just making sure it was safe. 

"Bedrons & Sons must put in a substitute for right defense or forfeit to Wolfram & Hart!" Bellowed the referee, taking control of the situation. The announcer guy, who knew quite well what he was getting into when he took the job, pulled out a clipboard. He scanned it, following down the list with his jewelry-adorned index finger. He flipped on the microphone.

"How was that for a few magic tricks, kiddos!?" He yelled, thanking the Powers that Be, if there were any, for the fact that he had been provided with a list of excuses in event that something like this should happen. 

"That was courtesy of Magi's-n-stuff, located on the corner of Baybell Drive and Ionora. Visit them at some time, and ask them how they do it!" Okay, lame, but it worked. The gym settled back down to normal and the game resumed. 

                                                                        ---

Twenty minutes later, the score was Wolfram & Hart, 6, Bedrons & Sons, 3.  Wesley, who played right defense, was sporting a rather large bruise on the left upper thigh from a loose puck that Spike had failed to catch when it flew past him. So, naturally, it made sense that Wesley's _thigh_ should work instead of his stick. Of course, the fact that the puck was almost 3 feet off the ground might have had something to do with that. He looked up at the stands, and smiled as Fred lifted up an ice pack. He gave her a thumbs up, and then proceeded to 'ouch' as his left shin caught another puck. 

"C'mon Nancy-boy, pick up the pace!" Spike goaded as he grabbed the puck when it bounced off the ex-rogue demon hunter's shin and passing it to Gunn. 

"Spike, it really would be in your best interests right now if you paid attention to the puck instead of me." Wesley said, fighting to keep his growing irritation under control.

"Someone's getting grumpy." Spike said in a singsong voice. 

"Do you realize that this stick is made out of wood?" Spike shut up, and jogged forward to snatch another puck away.

                                                                        ---

Somewhere, away in a quite room (the locker that Bedrons & Sons used), three men sat. They wore long, crimson red robes and had a long black stripe painted down their noses. A single red ruby adorned the area between their eyes, which in turn where a jaundiced-looking yellow. 

"Omni hu jeni trest vicarious." They chanted. They sat in a triangle, a small altar set up in between them. 

"Omni hu…" Said the first, reaching forward to light a white candle. 

"Jeni trest." Said the second, reaching forward to light a black candle. A few seconds passed, and both turned to glare from underneath their hoods at the third member of their little chant gang. The third member coughed sheepishly.

"Oh yeah. Vicarious!" He said, reaching forward and lighting a red candle. The flames of the three candles twisted together, and from their flame erupted a beast of terrifying proportions. It stood nearly 9 feet tall, thus was forced to stoop in the locker room. It had scaly skin that was the same color as the chanter's robes, two pointy horns and vicious, dagger-like teeth. It had two pure black orbs for eyes, and sharp fingernails at the end of it's brawny arms. In one, swift move, it swept up the chanters and ate them. It was still hungry, but it knew its job. It was summoned for one purpose, and one purpose only; to eat the ones that angered it's Master. It lumbered to the door, ripped it off its hinges, and scuffed to where it could see bright gym lights. And food, naturally. 

                                                                        ---

Angel smelled it before it actually showed up. It carried with it a faint smell of carrion, and an overpowering smell of fresh human blood. Spike smelled it at almost the exact same time as Angel, and whirled around to face the elder vampire.

"I thought you had gone and quit the stuff." He said, clearly thinking that Angel was 'drinking under the table'. 

"I did." Angel snapped irritably, looking around. He felt his hackles rise predictably as the great beast lumbered out. 

"What the hell is that?" Gunn said, taken aback as he craned his neck to peer at Wesley. Wesley, the pain in his thigh and shin forgotten, grinned. Finally, he was in his element.

"I do believe that is a Jendres demon. They are summoned to carry out a masters bidding." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Fred scrambling off the wooden bleaches and in the direction of the locker room, which Wolfram & Hart occupied for the hockey game. They had a bag of weapons in Angel's locker, so hopefully she was running to get those. Harmony followed shortly after. 

"Any idea as to what it's doing here?" Asked Angel, taking a few steps back along with the rest of his team. The three paralegals, including the one of the broken leg, had scampered away as quickly as trouble began, in the true way of a lawyer, so it was just them. But, then again, that's how things usually were. 

"To do the master's bidding, you wanker. Weren't you paying attention?" Spike said, jogging to the weapons bag as Fred brought it out and placed it on the floor. He selected a shiny axe, only to have it plucked away by Angel.

"That's mine." Angel said. Spike didn't protest, seeing as how the demon had now made it onto the court and was making a beeline for them amongst the throngs of people. So, Spike chose a mace this time, and was pleased to see no one contradicted him. Gunn grabbed a sword, Wesley a dagger, and Fred a crossbow. Lorne simply removed his helmet and began a few vocal exercises. He only hoped that Jendres demons had a problem with notes in the key of high C.  Angel and Spike engaged the demon in combat, each praying that Fred, who was nothing to get excited about with the cross bow, did _not_ get excited and actually shoot it. Both vampires had scars in places they would rather not talk about from a ill-aimed bolt, and naturally they were eager to avoid them.  Harmony skittered across the floor with a bloody crimson robe in her hand.

"I found this in the other dudes locker room. I think he ate the dudes whippin' up the mojo. That's bad, right? Or good that I found it? Or is it good that he ate them?" Wesley ignored her endless questions, and accepted the robe from her, ducking as Spike's mace flew out of his hand after receiving a good jab to the solar plexus. The mace landed on the floor leaving a sizable dent, much like the one on locker 57 in the locker rooms. He examined the robe, and exclaimed 'Ah-Ha!' as he read the inside label.

"_Property of: Bedrons & Sons_" It read in a flowery purple script. "Morons." Harmony said, with a tsk. "Who the heck puts a 'property of' sign on clothes nowadays? You might as well as your mother to dress you!"  

"This all makes sense now!" He looked up from the robe.

"Angel!"  He yelled. Angel turned his head. The demon seized the opportunity, and grabbed Angel, lifting him in the air like the wrestlers on the WWF shows do. Angel grunted in pain as he threw him to the floor. Spike laughed, but the smirk was wiped off his face as the same thing happened to him moments later.

"You can't kill him! It takes a substantial amount of power to maintain control over a organism such as this, so we should look for whomever is controlling it. Once we find him, we either convince him to break the spell or kill him." 

"Sounds great." Angel said, scanning the crowd with his eyes as Spike slammed into the floor behind him.

"That's going to bruise." He said, looking over his shoulder.

"Shut up, you poof." Snapped Spike, as he stood up, game face in place.

"You wanna play rough? Daddy'll take you for a spin, then." Said Spike angrily, lunging for the demon's neck.

"Found him!" Angel yelled, pointing to the opposite teams bench.

"What kind of an _idiot_ does chanty-mumbo jumbo where everyone can see him?" Harmony asked, examining her nails as Spike slid past her, his shoulder quickly becoming part of the gym floor. 

"This fellow, apparently." Fred responded, running after Angel and the rest of the team. Well, excluding Spike. Spike was too busy learning the floor patterns of the freshly waxed gym floor. 

By this point, the whole gym was empty save for the two competing law firms. Even the announcer guy and referee had split. The security guards had been well trained in case an event such as this occurred, so they had evacuated the gym quickly. Angel strode across the room, and grabbed the chanting figure by the neck. He lifted him up quickly, and accidentally kicked over a candle that was part of the mini-altar, which had been set up quickly. No one noticed, however. 

"The spell." Angel growled. "I want it put out." With a whimper, the small law partner whom Angel had had several run-ins with nodded, and kicked over a small green jade stature. It shattered, and the demon disappeared in a whiff of smoke, leaving Spike to fall to the ground yet again. 

"Bugger." Spike said, rubbing his elbow. "BUGGER!" He yelled frantically, as the flames from the knocked over candle spread across the freshly waxed floor. Angel swore, and dropped the lawyer to the ground. Thankful for the mercy that had been shown, the lawyer skittered away, coughing through the smoke.

"Spike! Where are you?" Angel yelled, ushering his team for a door. He saw the younger vampire standing like a lost little lamb surrounded by a wall of fire. He was tempted for just a moment to leave him there, but figured that would be cruel. So, he grabbed the robe that one of the chanters had been using (Wesley had brought it with him and left it on the floor as he ran out with the other three), and ran to Spike. He threw the robe over a wall of the flame, immensely grateful that the robe was made of wool and not just some cheap imitation. Spike ran through the hastily erected 'door-way', and with nary a nod of thanks or even acknowledgment towards each other, both vampires ran for the exit sign.  

                                                                        ---

Safely outside the building, the team plus Harmony clambered into Angel's car, or the Angel-mobile, as Spike crudely called it. Angel felt glum about the loss of his weapons. There were some really good throwing stars in there; he had used them on a vampire or two in his time. Spike looked glum as well.

"What's your problem?" Angel asked, shifting in his seat as he turned inserted the key into the ignition.

"Left my duster in the locker room there." Said Spike, indicating the burning gym with his finger. "Had that thing with me for a decade or two." Harmony shoved his garment in question into his lap.

"I saved it for you, blondie bear." She said, with a toothy smile. Spike didn't really know what to say to that. 'You didn't have to.' Seemed a bit too trite, and anything else he could say Harmony would probably take as a, 'I'm dying without you in my life so let's go find a desk and shag' thing. Not the brightest bulb in the box, yet he still put up with her. It helped when she saved his duster.

"Thanks." He said gruffly. Yeah, that ought to do it. She smiled, and turned back to her window. 

"Can we get moving already, Angelcakes? All this smoke, _so_ not good for the vocal chords, capice?" Angel nodded slowly, and turned the key. The engine whined, and failed to roll over.

"Can't you even start a bleedin' car right?" Spike said, standing up and leaning over Angel's shoulder for the key. 

"Spike! Sit down!" Angel snapped, shoving him backwards. Spike insisted on grabbing the key and starting the car, however. Angel was rather adamant that Spike did not gain control of his car keys; he knew how to start the damn thing! A harried fight for control began, consisting mostly of slaps, until Fred help up her still loaded cross bow.

"Will the both of you just _shut up_?" She yelled, accidentally pulling the trigger in her fury. 

"OUCH!" Spike yelled as the dart imbedded itself in his upper thigh.

Fred winced sheepishly. "Sorry." She said meekly.

"Fred, give me the bloody crossbow." Spike said darkly, holding out his hand. She handed it to him. With a snap, and much to Wesley's displeasure, he broke the crossbow's winch and threw it out the window, after he rolled it down, of course. 

"Spike, that was irreplaceable 17th century Chinese craftsmanship!" 

"So? Get Batman over there to replace it for you." Spike pulled out the dart and it followed the crossbow out the window. 

"What part of irreplaceable did you not understand?" Wesley said, his voice edging on hysteria. Lorne leaned over to Angel. 

"You need to move it into park." He said, indicating the stick shift with a red nail.

"Oh yeah. I knew that." Angel moved the stick into 'park' and started the car. He really needed to stop crashing all of his cars that ran on automatic. Spike scowled darkly in the back seat.

"You're a idiot." Said Spike simply, referring to Angel's inability to drive a stick shift, and accepting the bandage that Fred handed him from the first aid kit.

"Takes one to know one." Angel replied, hitting the gas and beginning what would be a long drive through many detours back to Wolfram & Hart.


End file.
